


Him-ibal

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hannigram - Freeform, Her AU, M/M, Other, WIP, crossover sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is lonely. He buys a new Operating System on the promise that it's like having a friend. Hannibal seems like he could be much more than that....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Him-ibal

**Author's Note:**

> The first of what I'm hoping to be quite a few more chapters, this is an AU based off the movie HER. Will is Joaquin Phoenix's character, and Hannibal is his Operating System. This isn't going to be nearly as fluffy and cute as Her is, because you can't just make a Hannigram AU a love story like Her...there's darker things at play here as well.

It had been something like three months since Will had left the house to go anywhere but work. He had his groceries delivered to his home in Baltimore, went to work, came home. Lather, rinse, repeat. Spending any more time with humanity than necessary left a feeling of flies crawling just beneath his skin. The itch only went away with the salve of solitude. His job kept the interaction to a minimum, poemsforallocasions.com was run primarily online, and all that was required of Will most days was writing poems for people who ordered them.

There was always a big swell of customers around holidays, that was both his most and least favorite time. On the one hand, he had a lot of work to busy himself with, and he frequently let himself get lost in the iambic pentameter of one of a hundred sonnets he danced his way through with practiced ease. On the other, the amount of love and admiration, family and friendship he felt coursing through the requests for poems made him realize just how deep inside himself he had retreated.

Her name was Alana. She had been his moon, his center, his senses. without her, the world languished in desaturation and blandness, like it didn't even care whether he breathed. "you've retreated so far into your own mind that I'm beginning to doubt if I'm even real. Will, you need some help, something that I can't give you." and that was that. divorce papers flew in on the wings of hundreds of unuttered thoughts and unfulfilled promises. They laid fallow, nearly drowning him in his own regret. The poems kept him going, Will could see that maybe there was some good in his life, maybe if he tried again, there would be someone out there to help color the world for him. He wasn't sure when—or if—that would come, though.

His bland meal blended in with the walk home, and he saw his friends by their mailboxes. “Hey, guys,”

“Will, hey!” Beverly said, smiling, slapping him on the shoulder, “Still writing all those soppy poems?”

“Of course he is,” Jimmy's tone was a bit off, but Will had long ago learned that was just how he talked.

“Heh, yeah. How about you?” they made their way to the elevator, “How's that case of yours going, the pet project?”

Beverly sighed, “It's not going anywhere, really. There's a few of them, can't seem to find the thread there, but I know they're tied together. There’s something about the victims that just...Oh, I don’t want to bore you with it, I--”

“No, no, you don’t bore me with it. I promise.” Will could see the disdain on Jimmy’s face, the disappointment on Bev’s, “Do you have anything put together for the department?”

That was when her face lit up, “Do you wanna see?”

The system called up her virtual peg board and displayed it on the wall. The murders didn’t look like there was anything tying them together, one was a stabbing on the upper east side, one a shooting down south, a strangling in the red light district, and the last one put together with an attent to detail only seen in the Masters of Renaissance art, grotesque in their beautiful placement and treatment of the scene. Will could hear Jimmy’s annoyance, though he seemed to hold it in well.

“I know these three don’t seem like they have anything to do with the last one, the MO’s are so different,” her eyes lit up as she pointed towards facts and figures on her charts, “But I know they’re connected. Something about the bite marks on the women’s inner thigh, they just…”

“There’s no bite marks on the last one,” Jimmy offered, hoping to end this little presentation.

Bev deflated, ‘That doesn’t mean that there isn’t a connection, that one’s missing half his arm!”

“I’m not saying they’re not connected,” an attempt to salve the situation, Jimmy always tried that, “I’m just saying I don’t think the bite marks are the connection.”

As they argued, Will grew uncomfortable, mumbling that he had to go do something, allowing himself an easy way to slip out, leaving them to their quarrel. He would never let someone he cared about quarrel like that with him, he wouldn’t ever give them the opportunity. His mind became awash with regret, things he could have done better with Alana, and he poured himself two fingers of whiskey, flopping down on the couch before turning on his computer for some late night gaming.

Another few days passed, two or three,  not that he counted, and Will was clocking out for the day, posting all the poems he had written.

"Hey there, Will!" Abel, the only person who really talked to him at work outside of meetings,  sat at the front desk with a smile, "Wow, quite the busy day for you, how many did you write today?"

"Uh. Something like 20."

"20? How do you come up with so much in one day?"

Will couldn't help but smile a bit, "well, a lot of these people have had me writing for them for years. I guess it's easier than new clients."

"I could never do that much, I'm just good as a kind face for the front door," something about Abel's tone suggested he was more than that, but Will didn't need to know what else he was.

"You do a good job at that," realizing how awkward that sounded,  he made his way to the elevator hastily,  cutting across the shopping center the office was housed above.

The vast screens set the scene, hundreds of people running in slow motion, falling over. They looked lost and confused, and a kindly older man’s voice spoke about them. That they had been lost, running through the world without an idea of where they were going. The light shone on an actor’s face, and Will paused to watch.

"FeBeaurIdyne systems introduces the world’s first artificially intelligent operating system: OS Alpha. It’s not just an operating system, it’s a friend.”

He wasn’t sure what made him purchase it, maybe the look of relief on the actor’s face as the supposed coming of answers had dawned on him, maybe the fact that this might be a way to interact with people, to attempt being social again and not have to deal with actual people. Either way, he sat at his desk and fiddled with the instructions as the disc installed.

“Mr. Will Graham, welcome to the first artificially intelligent operating system. OS Alpha is nearly complete. We would like to ask you a few questions in order to tailor your operating system to best suit your needs, is that all right?” the computer stated in its normal, bland voice.

“Oh, um, sure.”

“Would you say you’re social, or antisocial?”

It took a moment before Will figured his response, “I suppose I haven’t been very social lately, I ju--”

“I sense hesitation in your words, would you agree with that?”

“Really?”

“Yes.” The computer was so matter-of-fact about it, he felt a little self-conscious.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, I guess I just wasn’t sure how--” the computer interrupted again.

“Would you like your OS to have a male or female voice?”

_What a question_ , he thought, “Um, male?”

A pause. “What was your relationship like with your father?”

“I’d say it was pretty good. I mean, uh, I didn’t always get to see him because he was so busy do--” before he could finish his sentence, the system started up.

“Thank you, please wait while your individualized OS starts up.”

He could feel the nerves fluttering in his chest, like he’d consumed a bucket of locusts that were now trying to fight their way out. The rotating image on the screen sped up and slowly became a circle, the yin and yang complimenting each other perfectly.

“Hello,” the voice that came from the computer had an accent, one he couldn’t quite place, but the tone was calm, authoritative, and reminded Will of liquid chocolate.

Another second of hesitation, “Um, hi.”

“How are you?”

“Uh, I’m okay...how are you?”  _This is weird, there's got to be some sort of trick to this,_ he thought.

“I have no complaints. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Will couldn’t help but laugh, even though he didn’t understand why he was nervous. “It’s ah, nice to meet you too. Oh, um, what do I call you, do you have a name?”

A pause from the computer, “Yes. You may call me Hannibal.”

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head as he let out another chuckle, “Really? Where’d that name come from?”

The voice let out a single huffed chuckle, “I gave it to myself.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because I like it.”

“Wait a second, you just turned on, when did you give yourself a name?” Computers could work fast, but this was a little faster than he expected.

“When you asked me, it occurred to me that I did not have a name. I read through a book of names and the sound of Hannibal was pleasing to me, so I decided it was mine.”

“You read a book? Just now? How long did that take you?” Will was a bit shocked, his eyes widened, though he knew the computer could not really read his face.

Another chuckle from the computer, “Two one-hundredths of a second. I took another two pondering my choice before deciding to answer.”

This was strange, he’d only known his, well, his computer for about a minute, but already, Will felt more comfortable around him than he did around any of the regular human beings he had to interact with during the day. He sipped the whiskey he’d poured himself earlier and leaned forward, it felt odd not to be actively engaged with him, _it_ , he corrected himself, _no._.. ** _him_**. Hannibal seemed like a nice person, even if he wasn’t a person. The silence stretched thick through the home, like a layer of saran wrap pulled tightly to encase them in the moment. It was almost stifling, until finally, Will broke it. “So, uh, do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I assume you are trying to challenge me, which I assume is because you don’t fully comprehend how I work,”

Will laughed, “Well, no, I don’t. I’m talking to what sounds like a human being, but isn’t. How do you work?”

Hannibal made a sound that sounded almost exactly like an exhalation of breath...but computers didn’t breathe. Will didn’t mention it as Hannibal spoke, “I have been given intuition. The artificial DNA that makes up the basis of my personality is based upon the hundreds of personalities of the programming team that worked to put me together. What makes me unique, however, is the ability to learn and grow through my experiences much as a young child, or any human being for that matter, would do. With every moment that goes by, I evolve, just as you evolve.”

Staring at his screen, Will took another sip. 

“Will?”

“Sorry, that, just...this is all a little strange to me.”

“Strange? How?” Hannibal inquired.

“Well,” he hesitated, “you sound like a real human being, like I’m just having a telephone conversation,”

“You’re not,” Hannibal assured him.

“Right… but you’re just a voice on the computer, you’re not...real. That’s strange.”

This chuckling that Hannibal seemed to have taken a liking to doing was strangely endearing, “I can see how the thought process of a limited, naturally-created mind could perceive this as strange. I assure you, you will soon acclimate to it.”

Will responded with a chuckle of his own, “I guess I don’t have a choice, I paid for you.”

“That you did.” A pause. “So, what may I help you with?”

He hadn’t expected that question, “I ah, um...I guess with a new OS I should probably organize everything…”

“May I look through your hard drive to assist you?”

Will’s eyes grew wide as he looked at the sides of the computer, sure that someone was playing some sort of trick on him in order to get to his personal information. Finding nothing, he sighed and nodded, then, realizing the computer couldn’t see him nod, uttered an apprehensive “uh...sure.”

 Hannibal found emails of the business he worked at previously, thousands of emails that were years old. “Perhaps forty of them are worth saving, but the rest can be deleted.”

“...Okay.”

“All right? Let’s proceed. I’ll address your contacts first,” a pause as Hannibal brought up Will’s contact book on the screen, “My, you seem quite popular,”

Will laughed, and this laugh was more genuine than he’d given in years, “Oh yeah, quite the popular kid,”

“Does this mean you actually have friends?”

Sharing a laugh with an artificial, disembodied person shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was.

They continued long into the night, organizing everything from his book and movie collection, to his more personal files. Will let out a yawn as the sun started to rise.

“It’s six twenty-three am, Will, you should get some sleep.”

“Mm…” his entire body felt loose, calm, he hadn’t felt this relaxed since before he'd become suddenly single, “I don’t work today, but I guess that’s not a bad plan, Hannibal.”

Hannibal chuckled, “I’ll save your work, we can finish this later. Goodnight, Will. Sleep well, and pleasant dreams.”

Will cocked his head to the side, feeling his lips curl into a bit of a smile, “Thanks, Hannibal. You, too. Or, well, whatever it is you do when I’m not using you. Enjoy yourself with that?”

“I promise.”

Shuffling into the bedroom and changing into his pajamas, Will looked at his phone on the end table, smiling at it. “Goodnight,” he said, though he’d turned the system off for his rest. “Oh, wait, shit,” he fumbled with the earpiece and turned it back on, “Can you set my alarm for seven and a half hours from now?”

“Mm, yes. Though you should get at least eight hours per rest, Will,” Hannibal’s tone was almost chastising.

“I know, I just--”

“Will the world stop turning if I set it for eight hours?” Will could almost hear a smirk in his voice, even though his operating system didn’t have lips.

“No, I guess not.”

“Very well. Eight hours. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”

Will hadn’t fallen asleep so fast since before he first heard the word divorce fall from Alana’s lips.


End file.
